


Here’s To Forgetting About Douchebags

by Adventures_in_Writing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, One Night Stands, tucklix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adventures_in_Writing/pseuds/Adventures_in_Writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fight with Washington, Tucker finds himself at a bar. The guy that approaches him is easy on the eyes and perfect for helping him forget about Wash for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here’s To Forgetting About Douchebags

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt received on [ my Tumblr](http://an-adventure-in-writing.tumblr.com/): they have a huge fight so tucker storms out, goes to a club, gets drunk, meets felix and accidentally, drunkenly cheats on wash 3 
> 
> I don't condone cheating on partners, guys. It's bad!

* * *

Tucker angrily threw back the shot of vodka, slamming the shot glass down on the bar with a resounding ‘smack!’ as he swallowed.

“Another!” he shouted, shifting the glass so it lined up neatly next to the other three sitting on the bar.

He glared at the glasses whilst the bar tender shook her head and picked up the bottle of vodka. He was still angry from earlier in the evening after his shouting match with Washington had escalated to him leaving the house in a fury.

“Hey there,” came a smooth voice that was friendly and flirtatious, “That looks like a serious problem.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll drink what I like.”

“Hey now, I didn’t mean the booze. Some douchebag stood you up?”

The bar tender set another glass down before him and Tucker turned to look at the stranger who was doing a poor job of trying to chat him up. He was short, shorter than Tucker and that was saying something, and stood with such poise that he must’ve had an ego the size of a planet. He oozed confidence and was easy on the eyes; he had black hair that was longer on the side that had orange highlights and a gaze that wandered unabashedly over Tucker’s hunched body.

Yeah. He definitely looked all right.

“Not really, but the douchebag isn’t worth talking about,” Tucker looked the newcomer over once, his gaze lingering on the guy’s slender waist and well-toned arms before he drank the fifth shot. “Name’s Tucker.”

“You can call me Felix,” he took the seat beside Tucker and nodded to one of the bar tenders, gesturing to Tucker’s empty shot glasses, signaling he’d like one.

“Like the cat?”

“The very same,” he laughed, picking up the shot and handing it to Tucker whilst the bar tender poured a second. “Here’s to forgetting about douchebags!”

Tucker nodded and downed the drink.

*****

Tucker awoke the next morning, his head pounding as he rolled over, reaching out to fumble for his phone. Blearily, he opened his eyes and gazed at the unfamiliar ceiling.

“What the fuck?” he groaned as he sat up on his elbows.

It was then that he realised something was wrong. The room wasn’t his, the bed wasn’t his, his clothes were missing and with a steadily growing sense of dread, he turned to look at the source of warmth beside him.

At first, he didn’t recognise the naked man curled up next to him. He was covered in purplish bruise-like marks that Tucker instantly recognised as hickeys; he had left the same kind of marks on Wash only nights before. After a few minutes of desperate thought, a name surfaced.

Felix.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened and Tucker felt his stomach lurch. He sat up properly, throwing back the covers as quickly as he could without disturbing Felix. Tucker pulled on his socks and trousers and shoved his phone, keys and wallet into his pocket. He searched around for his shirt and found it by the bedroom door. Almost frantically, he pulled it on over his head before quietly opening the bedroom door and letting himself out. He couldn’t leave the house fast enough.

Tucker walked along the street, his stomach heavy and his head feeling like it was about to split. His phone buzzed, alerting him to a missed call. Tucker had six of them, all from Wash. With shaking hands, he dialed the number for his voicemail and held the phone to his ear.

_“Tucker? It’s ten o’clock and I haven’t heard anything from you…since you left this afternoon. Look…I’m sorry. Can you please answer your phone so we can talk?”_

_“Tucker, if you’re ignoring my calls, please pick up.”_

_“Uh, hey Tucker, it’s me again. It’s twelve o’clock and I’m just wondering if you’re coming home tonight? I’m sorry. Please call me.”_

_“Hey, Church said you hadn’t been to see him all day. I’m worried. It’s two am. Please just text me or something so I know you’re okay.”_

_“Tucker? Please…I’m sorry. Just call…please be okay.”_

Tucker sent a text, short and to the point, but hopefully it would keep Wash happy for now: _I’m okay. Can’t talk . Be home soon._

Tucker locked his phone and put it into his pocket, his blood running cold. He felt sick and he knew it wasn’t because of the however-many-shots he’d had last night. It was guilt. How on Earth was he supposed to face Wash?


End file.
